may 8, 2000.

It's over. I'm through the chute for another year.

and there was much rejoicing...

I have to confess, I didn't quite live up to my academic potential this year. During Wednesday's gender history exam, I had more & more trouble keeping awake and focussed as the time wore on. I pulled out all the time wasting tricks of old: I mapped out the final percentages of each question, I pondered my choices for an inordinate amount of time before picking a question, and I stared into space a fair bit. I skipped the last question entirely, figuring that it was worth 6% to get out of that place. But I felt all squirmy on the way out; not dashing & nonconformist at all. Oh well. At least my essay was well-received: 85%, and the nicest comments you could ever hope for.

I find out my final marks on Monday. I'm not too worried - Acadia only wants 3 history credits, so I could conceivably flunk one of these courses and still get admitted. Not that I want to do that, but it's a comforting thought.

Thursday was a write-off. Nothing of significance happened Thursday. That's okay: they can't all be gems.

Friday was much more interesting. During the afternoon, I managed to get a hold of Dirk to remind him that it was Cinco de Mayo, and we should therefore drink huge fruity drinks on or near a balcony. We settled on the fire escape at the Entropy Apartment. A very nice time: St. Stephen lit a bunch of candles and we all flaked out in front of the open door with our daiquiris close by. One thing I'd forgotten to miss about res is the easy companionship and the spontaneity that can infuse even the simplest and laziest night. It's also nice, once in awhile, not to chase flashing lights & loud music in search of a good time.

Big day on Saturday. Huge day. The Boy's work had booked Canada's Wonderland (read: large amusement park) for a company family day, so we were all ready to brave the early May temperatures and put in a full day of government-regulated excitement. But Jesus Murphy, was it hot. It was as hot as it gets in the middle of summer and I simply wasn't ready for that kind of oppressive heat this early in the year. Of course, we didn't make it any easier on ourselves: our first activity once inside was to join the 1 1/2 hour line up for the Top Gun ride. After such a long time in the noonday sun, the ride wasn't fun at all. I spent the whole time trying to keep my limbs from being whacked off by a metal support - they may say the ride is safe, but I knew in my heart that if I wasn't totally alert, I'd be wearing a peg leg on the way out of the park. So between my terror of amputation and my sunstroke nausea, I was less than happy on my way down the ramp.

but we learned from our mistakes. To fight heat exhaustion, we periodically visited the water rides to be hosed down in an exciting fashion. To avoid the frustration of long line-ups, we restricted ourselves to the less-popular roller coasters and the baby rides in Hanna Barberra Land. But we had a good time nonetheless. The wooden roller coasters kick my ass anyway...I have no need for fancy metal elaborations on the basic theme. I made a few friends in line, most notably a little freckled gap-toothed boy straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting with the same name as my brother. And the Boy & I were able to discuss our theory about the inverse relationship of entertainment found only in large amusement parks. Where else does one pay so much money for fun, then voluntarily place oneself in a boring situation like a line-up? People are paying $50 a day to entertain themselves, man. I can't think of a more cunning strategy.

We came home covered in sweat, my feet aching where water had found its way into the boots and socks had rubbed my wet skin raw. And then the three of us tidied up the apartment. For Saint Stephen had declared that there was to be a surprise party for the Boy's birthday and people were due any minute. We had no idea if he knew what was about to happen or not; I had tried my best to keep everything quiet but there was a whole lot of fresh food around when we returned and St.St and I were pretty energetic about cleaning. It was funny to pretend that he didn't know in these last stages, so we believed that in lieu of any hard evidence to the contrary.

People showed up with food and drink and presents, and it became a very nice place to be for a night.

Honestly, there isn't much more to say than that. It was a good time and I very much enjoyed seeing Fast Eddie & Olia & Princess Leia & Pixie & Q in one place. The apartment was stifling with the unseasonable heat and the unusual amount of guests, so half the party moved out onto the lawn. I never visited that group: I was too busy licking melty Brie off my fingers and being chastened by Q for the same. Little Spider and Big Daddy Longlegs (i.e. the boyfriend with no pseudonym from last September) were one of the last to both arrive and leave, and we spent quite a bit of time in easy drunken comradeship. It was one of those slow flowing nights where you never go off to find the party, because wherever you are is interesting enough.

As for The Birthday Boy, he fell asleep on the floor with his head in the kitchen and his body in the living room. He claims to have no recollection of anything past 2 a.m., which is a whole other kind of testament to the quality of the party.

Quiet Sunday, a scorching-hot aftermath day that (again) left me covered in sweat with my feet rubbed raw. We tried out a new diner on the recommendation of Saint Stephen; it was unairconditioned I thought for a brief giddy moment that I was going to literally melt onto the linoleum floor. It was my own damn fault, really. I know better than to wear big black boots and a big black hat in the sun, but I was trapped in my docs until I could get home to my other shoes...and the hat was necessary to hide my horrid growing-out rock-on skid hair. Surprisingly, the food was worth it. Most of us were looking for a proper hang-over fry with lots of grease to soothe our troubled tummies, but they didn't have anything like that on the menu. All in all, we ate much healthier than we had intended, and it was a deliciously quirky range of tastes.

A few more blocks and we were in line for Gladiator. Wow. What a cool movie. Unfortunately, I went in thinking that it was more-or-less historical, and the final scene between the Cesar and Maximus pretty much blew that hypothesis to pieces, so I was annoyed and distracted by the ending. It seemed to tear the tragic logic to pieces and rob me of what I felt to be the inevitable conclusion to the action. Next time will be different, though...if I don't expect the movie to end historically, I can appreciate the story on its own merits.

And I probably won't start crying during the pacification of Germania. Probably.